The Dress

Clothes intimidate me.

It's one of the reasons why I have a tendency to dress as plainly as I do - I'm not afraid of jeans. I feel I am capable of wearing a pair of jeans and a T-Shirt without looking like a complete moron. I still look like a bit of a dork, but I look like a dork who at least dresses with some level of competence. Once I start trying to "mix it up" a bit, the appearance of competence begins to wane...

There are at least two very good reasons for my tendency to dress plainly and serviceably. The first is that I am not to be trusted with "interesting" clothes. When I was a child I had a tendency to dress myself in such a way that it looked like my wardrobe had been selected by a colour-blind gibbon.

I found a photo of myself the other day when I was twelve, wearing one of my favourite shirts with one of my favourite jackets. The shirt was fluoro green with orange and blue swirls, and looked a little bit like the designer of the material had been inspired by watching a performance artist consume a number of highlighters and then throw up. The jacket was fire-engine red. The fact that I owned and loved both of these items of clothing is a little disappointing. The fact that I thought I could wear them at the same time is just down-right disturbing.

So these days I deliberately work within a very limited palette, and abide as far as possible by what I call the "don't dress like a moron" rule: only wear one 'interesting' thing at any given time and, if possible, cover it up or replace it with something less interesting.

The second reason can be best summed up by telling you about a recent shopping expedition in Sydney. It's actually almost identical to the last couple of shopping expeditions I've had in Sydney.

When I stay in Sydney, I stay at the Hide Park Inn. I found this hotel when looking for somewhere potentially self-catering that was close to a) a train station and b) parks and gardens. I liked it so much I went back there for subsequent Sydney visits. It's a short walk from the Museum Station, it's across the street from Hyde Park, it's in the vicinity of a couple of museums and it's only about ten minutes' walk away from the state gallery and the botanical gardens. From that location I can get to pretty much everywhere I want to go in Sydney by either walking or catching a train.

It's also a short walk away from the CDB and quite a large number of shops, so when the light started to fade while I was enjoying some quality park time on my last visit, something in my head said: "It's silly to go to Sydney for the parks and gardens when thou art so close to the Pitt Street Mall. Go thou, therefore, unto Westfield or such like and find thyself something nice to purchase." (I don't always talk to myself with retired pronouns, but sometimes it's just fun).

So, I went to Westfield and started amusing myself by trawling through all the shops filled with pretty clothes. I saw many nice things in the windows, and would occasionally see something that I really liked - a dress that was pretty, not completely ridiculous, and in a cut and colour that appealed to me.

I looked at some of those dresses, thinking: "I'd like to be the kind of person who wears dresses like that." This thought would be followed by "you know, I've lost some weight, I've found a figure, the last few times I looked in a mirror I thought I might even be able to pull of being kind-of-almost pretty if I just dressed a bit better... Maybe I could be the kind of person who wears dresses like this." Which was usually followed by "My, that is rather expensive. I'm not that interested."

Finally, though, I decided that it was probably good to own at least one decent dress, even if it was rather expensive, so I went into a shop, found something I liked, and went to try it on. It was the largest size they had - but a size I usually wear, so I was quietly confident...

It was too small, but it was enough. Putting on the pretty dress just served to point out how much the mental image I had of myself was incorrect. The figure I thought I had was not the figure I actually had. The face I thought I had was also thrown into a rather harsher light in the change room too, it must be said. Instead of helping me look and feel a bit pretty for a change, it pointed out just how pretty I wasn't.

As I put the dress back on the rack, the shop that was previously full of possibilities suddenly turned into something that was full of the same sort of thing - things that I can't pull off. The other shops? Also full of things I can't pull off. I'm sure there's a pretty dress out there somewhere that I might be able to wear without looking like that girl in the movies who always wears the wrong clothes, but it wasn't in any of the shops I saw.

So, then I did what women with poor body image issues have been doing since the dawn of time. I went looking at shoes. The shop I walked into didn't have a single pair of women's shoes that would fit my gigantic feet. I really wasn't in the mood to by something practical from the men's section, and I decided it was time to stop looking at anything that could be described as "something to wear".

I don't have this problem with jeans. Jeans either fit comfortably or they don't. When they don't fit comfortably, I simply try on a different pair of jeans. I don't fall into a deep funk about my ability to ever look remotely feminine. Pretty dresses, on the other hand? I'm always afraid they are going to take what little self-esteem I have and crush it without pity.

So, yeah. I guess you could say clothes intimidate me.